


i can't feel my face when i'm with you

by rwbyfics



Category: RWBY
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-27
Updated: 2015-09-27
Packaged: 2018-04-23 17:51:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,217
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4886086
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rwbyfics/pseuds/rwbyfics
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>(but i love it.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	i can't feel my face when i'm with you

Yang hisses softly when the zipper of her boot catches on the inside of her ankle.

Blake takes notice, looking up from where she’s unwrapping the length of black ribbon running down her wrist. “You alright?” She asks, drumming her fingers against the inside of her arm.

Yang pauses and bites her lip, thumbing away a sliver of blood starting to well at the jutted knob of her talus. It’s stupid to be in pain over something as inconsequential as a scratch when she fights deadly Grimm almost every day, but that doesn’t stop things like hangnails and scratches from annoying the shit out of her. Yang steps out of her shoes and toes her socks off, shoving them into the cluttered depths of her locker.

“C’mon, Blake,” Yang shakes her head in mock disappointment. “It takes more than that to kill a bull moose.” Maybe it’s the spirit of Professor Port that Yang’s channeling that makes Blake roll her eyes so far back that she flashes the whites of her eyes, but it still kindles something odd and pleasantly tingly at the base of Yang’s kneecaps, sort of like when she feels Bumblebee’s engine purr to life underneath her.

“I’m only asking since you pouted after I got in a few good shots the last time we sparred.” Blake faces Yang again and taps her chin with her finger in thought. “Is it possible that I saw tears in your eyes, Yang Xiao Long?” Her eyes are dancing with amusement.

“You punched me in the nose!”

Blake arches one dark narrow brow, smiling slightly.

“Bull moose are weaker than I thought, hmm?” She laughs when Yang flushes to the tips of her ears, a soft, pleased noise that feathers off into a contemplative hum. Blake tucks the dark ribbon back into her locker, along with Gambol Shroud. The day’s training left her warm-blooded and sore, along with a thin sheen of sweat coating her brow. She slips off her boots and rolls her ankles once, groaning slightly.

“You gonna shower first?” Blake asks.

“Nah, you go ahead.”

Yang pretends not to notice when Blake visibly tenses before reaching up to unknot the bow hiding her ears, and when the silk falls, she immediately ducks her head. A year of being a part of Team RWBY, and she still becomes a ghost of a person sometimes, like a camera lens refusing to focus properly. Blake hastily readjusts her hair to cover the base of her ears.

“Thanks.” Blake pops her shoulders before undoing the large silver button of her vest. The thin cotton top goes next, and it’s in that instant that the hypnotizing flex of jack knife shoulder blades and lean muscle catches Yang off guard. Suddenly there’s a dry lump in her throat that’s impossible to get rid of, no matter how hard she tries to swallow or will it away. Blake’s wandering around in her bra and shorts, searching for a fresh supply of towels.

She returns victorious, pajamas and towels draped over her forearm.

“... don’t know where I put my book. Yang? Yang, have you seen it?”

“What?” Yang jumps to attention. Blake’s staring at her expectantly, head tilted to the side.

“I had my book when I left the dorms this morning. I think I misplaced it.“

“I don’t think I’ve seen it.” Yang’s tongue feels heavy and awkward in her mouth. Hopefully verbal vomiting helps ease it slightly. “It’s the romance one, right? Might have to do a cell search on Prisoner Rose’s bunk tonight.”

Probably not.  

Blake snorts, but doesn’t respond. She double checks her locker before walking off to the showers, leaving Yang alone in the large room, trying to get her breathing under control. She’s lightheaded and warm, and her skin prickles in that annoying, trembling way it does when she hasn’t had anything to eat in a while and her stomach dips uncomfortably hollow. It’s an odd, addictive sort of pain that leaves her crawling her back for more.

It’s stupid to be freaking out over a sliver of skin, but Blake’s already too closed off and private as it is, and Yang’s never been around to see her like that before, absentminded and as candid as she was a few minutes ago. The fact that she hadn’t been wearing her bow was another thing as well. Yang closes her eyes and breathes through her nose, letting out a weak laugh despite herself.

She doesn’t really know what to do with herself, but she knows that she can sit here and breathe, and she’ll take it one step at a time from there.

* * *

“Wake up.”

Yang slumps into the sharp jab of an elbow prodding her side, groaning under her breath. Blake’s voice barely registers through the fog of sleepiness. Bright sunlight and the low, rumbling din of the dining hall does nothing to help Yang wake up. Falling asleep face first into her breakfast plate isn’t an ideal way to start her day, but it’s happening nonetheless, and then her cheek is hitting the soft leather of her glovelets and --

Two fingers peel back Yang’s eyelids and press so hard that she sees stars for a little. When she sits up ramrod straight, chomping at the bit for a fight, Blake laughs brightly. Her eyes are sparkling, and she’s biting down on her lip to keep from laughing even louder. Yang furrows her brows and frowns, a bit put off.

“Good morning, sunshine.” Blake says sweetly, chuckling when Yang bares her teeth.

“Bite me, kitty cat.”

“Why are you so tired today?” Blake asks, buttering a triangle of toast. Her voice is low so that their conversation stays between them. Yang feels the urge to lean forward to share Blake’s space, but chooses to lean back and run a hand through her hair, knotting it into a bun with a thin strand around the base.

“Couldn’t sleep,” Yang yawns so hard that her jaw clicks. Blake stays quiet, but passes Yang the butter when the blonde picks up a biscuit from the basket in front of her, ripping it in half with her teeth. “I guess I’m stressed about something.” She knows exactly what she’s stressed about; she’s been obsessing about kissing the place where Blake’s collarbones coalesce into one flat space, replaying the same scene of Blake dragging her cuspids down the scars on her knuckles.

Blake makes a noise under her breath and presses her palm against the back of Yang’s gloved hand. She squeezes once to ground Yang, keep her head level and clear.

“Don’t push yourself too hard, Yang.” Blake murmurs. She lets go once Yang nods, and goes back to eating her breakfast. Yang laughs weakly.

“That’s my job though!” She protests, but when Blake narrows her eyes and lowers her gaze back to her food. “Thanks, Blake.” Yang says, words careful and slow.

“For what?”

“For… caring, I guess.”

Blake looks at Yang a bit strangely. It’s jarring, having that slanted golden gaze fixed on her, intent and balanced. Yang thinks distantly of when Blake had told her about her old partner, Adam, how they’d practically been attached to the hip, telegraphing each others movements. She wonders if this is what it’s like to have someone be your phantom limb.

“I’m your partner, Yang. It’s my job to walk into the pits of hell with you.” She reaches over and piles two more biscuits onto Yang’s plate, giving her a pointed look just as she’s about to protest. “And you might as well be full and functioning when we do.”

* * *

 

Being in Team RWBY’s dorm room after night falls is sort of like entering a war zone.

Besides all of the clutter and random trinkets crowding the floor and desks, Ruby spends most of her evenings tinkering with Crescent Rose, leaving an interesting array of sharp metal objects on the ground. Yang’s more careful about being barefoot around the room these days. Weiss’s clothes take up most of the closet, and Blake’s miniature library dwarfs their bookcases.

Tonight’s a slow night; Weiss is revising one of Ruby’s essays after a few days of wheedling and begging, and Ruby’s flicking through her social media feeds on her Scroll, sharing a few choice posts aloud once something funny enough catches her eye. Yang’s stretched out on her bunk, gnawing on her bottom lip, staring at the ceiling cracks, fingers drumming along her stomach. It only takes a few more minutes before she finally gathers enough courage to poke her head over the edge of her bed and greet Blake upside down.

When Blake’s huddled up against the shadowy edges of the room, she looks more feline than human. She flashes her eyes at Yang for a split second, before relaxing back against the wall.

“Can I help you?”

“Hey, you found your book!” Yang notes, pointing at the black bound cover in Blake’s novel. She almost falls off her bed, but catches herself just in time. “Where’d you find it?”

“Pyrrha took it, actually. She thought it was one of hers.” Blake carefully creases the corner of the page she was on and closes it. “Turns out our tastes are more similar than I thought.” Yang widens her eyes. Pyrrha Nikos, Mistrali tournament champion and all around goddess, reading smut on her down time?

“I guess she needs something to whet the appetite until ol’ Jauney boy wises up, huh?” Yang grins wickedly. Blake laughs, quick and fleeting. “If that ever happens.”

“Jaune is a bit… blind to things that are in screaming color.” She says gently. Yang reasons with this for a moment before nodding her whole hearted agreement.

“Hey, mind if I duck in?” She asks, pointing to the empty spot next to Blake. “I feel like my head’s gonna pop if I stay like this for another minute.”

“Sure.”

Yang very gracefully tumbles off the bed and crawls into Blake’s bunk. She sits close to Blake, tries to not be so hyper aware of the space that they’re sharing, the subtle brush of Blake’s leg against hers. It’s silent for a while, until Blake opens her book again, and picks up where she left off. The measured breaths that Yang’s taking don’t really do much to ease the weird fullness in her chest; in fact, the scent of Blake’s shampoo and skin seems to be adding to this well of affection that refuses to let up, too big to fit inside her skin.

Across the room, Weiss guides Ruby through a fragmented sentence and a few spelling errors with the tip of her pen. Yang watches her baby sister bounce in place, bright red chunks of hair flopping around her cheeks like puppy dog ears. Time passes slowly, or maybe too fast altogether, and it isn’t until a pair of soft Faunus ears are tickling the side of her neck that she realizes Blake’s fallen asleep.

Blake’s got her head resting against Yang’s shoulder, her book open to the last page. Yang’s close enough to see the blue veins dusting the backs of Blake’s eyelids, the scar beside her parted lips, a few random freckles scattered near her temples.

“Apparently I’m so boring that I make all of my friends fall asleep. Care to explain yourself, Blakey?” Yang asks under her breath, poking Blake’s nose with the tip of her finger.

“ ‘m not sleeping.” Blake mumbles back, eyes still closed. Her voice is raspy around the edges, ridden with fatigue. “Just resting my eyes.”

Yang snorts out a laugh. She ruffles the top of Blake’s head with a careless hand, and is just about to scoot out of her bed and bid her a good night when pale fingers dance across the top of her knee. Yang looks down in silent surprise.

Blake’s rubbing soft circles into her skin with light, gentle fingertips. The pattern is easy to memorize; a winding perimeter around Yang’s skinned, scarred kneecap, each ring becoming smaller and smaller as she works her way inwards. Then backwards, and then forwards again.

“You’re warm.” Blake murmurs to Yang, dragging her fingernail up Yang’s leg in a teasing gesture, light enough not to make a mark, but insistent to wrack the blonde with a full body shiver. Yang laughs nervously; Blake’s leaning fully into her now, pressing her cheek against Yang’s shoulder.

“Stay here tonight?”

The question stuns Yang. She comes back to her mind slowly, and nods when Blake looks up at her, waiting for a response. Blake curls her fingers around Yang’s chin and pulls her down closer. The dark haired girl presses a soft kiss to a tilted cheekbone, withdrawing only when she’s sure that Yang’s felt each inch of her lips against her skin, memorized the sensation forever.

Blake flicks a few strands of hair out of Yang’s face, searching her face for any kind of reaction.

“You all right?”

For the first time, Yang finds herself at a loss for words. Blake laughs as she watches Yang flush scarlet.

“I guess we finally know what it takes to defeat a bull moose.”

Another delighted laugh is lost to a proper kiss, this time initiated by Yang. But when they part, they move together, lingering close in the hopes of a second kiss.


End file.
